


Interruption

by kheelwithit



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Incomplete, M/M, sexpollen, sexy anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kheelwithit/pseuds/kheelwithit
Summary: Sinbad doesn't know what the hell got into Ja'far, but he hopes to God it doesn't get out.





	Interruption

Sinbad doesn't know what the hell got into Ja'far, but he hopes to God it doesn't get out.  
It must be some sort of maniacal aphrodisiac or something, because the man's usually dismally small libido has magically transformed into that of a hormone-rampaged-upon seventeen year old boy every evening for the past three days. 

His dick is about to fall off; he's never been so happy about it.  
It begins with him begging for sex, which usually how things end. 

"I'll make it good? Pretty please?" Ja'far's face remains stony and cold. Sinbad's pouty face lost any sort of effect long ago. 

"Absolutely not. Sign here." Sinbad pens his name on some unread document with languor. 

"But why? It's been eight months, Ja'far. And you won't let me bang anyone else. If you don't agree, I'll just end up making another heir." Sin's eyebrows waggle suggestively as he makes wiggly movements with his fingers, balancing his quill on the topside of his hand while he does. 

"Just try it. I'll string you up by your toes and hang you from the balconies." The feather drops. 

"Ja'far, I don't know about you and your tiny appetite, but I'm a man in his prime. My hand can't even satisfy me anymore. I just need pussy." 

"Please refrain from using such derogatory terms, Sin." He signs another scroll on the dotted line and Ja'far sprinkles drying sand on it before rolling it up and bonking him on the head. 

"That's what it is, Ja'far. It's pussy." Sinbad spreads his arms like he's framing the word. 

"No, it's a vagina. An organ located between the legs of a woman that is capable of sexual reproduction and birth. It is not-- that." Ja'far, of course, sneers at the thought of calling anything a lewd nickname. If Sinbad had his way, it'd be a pastime to figure out how many lewd ways you could say something. Sharrkan 'n he'd, doubtless, be the champs. 

"Whassamatter? Can't say it? What about cunt, ass, hoochie, flower, twat, coochie, muff, snatch, fanny, meat wallet--" Sinbad really never knew he had so many words for that. He's not even halfway through, 'cause he's still not said the nicknames in other languages (Oh yeah, he's got 'em categorized from Balbad to Kou to Reim) but Ja'far's actually stuffed the end of the scroll into his mouth. 

"Shut. Up." Ja'far looks dead serious and really, Sinbad doesn't understand why. They're just words. And he doesn’t even have one. Sinbad sometimes thinks it'd be kinda hot if he did. He tucks the thought of Ja'far in his lap, breasts pressing up against his chest and fingering himself away as material to help him jerk it later. 

"Ah wiw ih oo gibe me yows." Ja'far yanks the end out of his mouth wiping it with a handkerchief from his robes to clean off the saliva. Ja’far quietly thinks he doesn’t intend on giving Sinbad anything of his any time soon. 

"I've already told you, not now." Not now, he said. There's hope.  
"Then later?"  
"Also no." Damnit. 

"But why? It's been eight months, Ja'far. And you won't let me bang anyone else. If you don't agree, I swear I'll--" Sinbad is metaphorically whacked in the face by the sensation of Déjà vu. Odd. But that feeling matters little because Ja'far is ignoring him again, scooping up dozens of scrolls into his arms and mysteriously manage to stay perfectly balanced no matter how quickly he exits, using his foot to pull the door closed behind him. The resulting thud echoes in his office, and he feels just that much more alone and horny. 

"Just me an' you again, then, huh, Righty?" 

And then, if you skip forward 6 hours later, you can find Sinbad in middle of an important meeting and feeling deviously, deliciously dirty because his hands are underneath the table, stroking his cock with lazy little flicks of the wrist while looking Reim's representative in the windows of his soul and speaking out loud about the plusses and minuses of changing currency rates while wondering what Ja'far would look like on his knees and lips stretched around Sinbad's cock. 

"My king," Ja'far is slipping through the door, clasping his hands and genuflecting in the presence of other royalty. Sinbad tucks his cock uncomfortably, but quickly back into his pants. Ja'far would be able to pick up the miniscule shifts in his muscles while he moves his hands. 

"Ja'far. I trust this is important?" Something is wrong, Ja'far doesn't just interrupt meetings, even if they're tedious and stupid and very nearly over. On top of that, his neck is pinked, like he's working to suppress something. Is he sick? He doesn't stand as straight as usual, either, and that's it. Sinbad shoves back his chair and strides to his friend. 

"Are you well?" He stands professionally still, careful not to move to support his Adviser like he wants. He does allow himself the liberty of a hand on the shoulder. Ja'far gasps and clutches his robes.

"I should think not, no, my King. Apologies. At the moment, there are pressing matters that need your attention," Sinbad takes a good look at the people around the table. The Reim representative is staring at his crotch, straining against his purple tunic. Oops. His cock twitches and he nods his head. 

"You gentlemen will have to excuse me." His tone brooks no argument and he hauls ass outta there, Ja'far stumbling after with as much dignity as he can make himself muster.  
The second the door closes behind them, Ja'far is all over him. 

He has a force in the way he yanks his weight and throws off all balance in the moments before he shoves Sinbad up against the wall with strength that always surprises him, grappling onto his robes with fevered twitchy hands and Solomon, Sinbad can feel the way Ja'far hums against the junction of his neck, can feel his teeth dig in when he bites. The throbbing in his cock through his clothes only gets worse and he's only too glad to let his retainer shove a thigh in between his legs to push up against his cock and make them both gasp. He doesn't even question that Sinbad had a boner in the middle of one of the more important meetings of the whole fiscal year. It's great. 

Sinbad clutches at Ja'far's collar for a change and growls that they would be far better served in his bedroom than against the wall in broad daylight where the year's most influential politicians could walk in on them at any time. Ja'far ignores that fact like he doesn't mind and mustn't, not at all, because Ja'far moans, drops to his knees like a filthy harlot and his hands go to Sin's robes like it's a force of gravity. Sure, he knows that he should ask his retainer if he's sure, do something vaguely noble but dammit, he's a despicable person already and after eight months, just Ja'far's hand on his dick is enough to make his eyes flutter and his head collide with the pillar, even sag a little. 

Ja'far’s so fucking ready for his king to fill his mouth that he's licking at it like a sweet, trying to make it slicker because without it, even if it's just his mouth, it's a tight fit because Sin is just that thick and Sinbad feels the sharp, sweet pleasure spike when Ja'far looks at him like he needs the stretch and the moments where Sin pushes his head so far down that he chokes and swallows furtively, all through thick lashes and eyes that only get so close to demure when he's like this, rumpled and red in the face and impatient. He really must be mindless with the way he uses his spit-slick r hand to grab at Sinbad's and buries it in his hair pushing upward and just looking like he hopes that'll be enough, that his King will take what he needs.  
And because a King must oblige his subjects, Sinbad does, shamelessly and a little rougher than he should. 

It ends with Sinbad's come coating the back of his General's throat while incensed politicians exit the hallway and neither of them have the presence of mind to be entirely silent and so the Reim representative leaves the palace with quite an interesting take on Sindria. Sinbad carefully neglects to mention anything about said representative when Ja'far hauls him back to the King's Suite. 

It's a thing of beauty to see Ja'far snarl so wonderfully. It's a thing to be admired, the force that he manages to yank Sinbad down onto the bed with and the ache in his scalp that he bears as a consequence isn't a bad thing and he rather hopes that Ja'far won't take his fingers out of his hair.  
To be perfectly honest, Sinbad thinks he'll give Ja'far the reins for this round when he doesn’t. His knees collide with the side of the mattress and Ja’far presses his face firmly into the mattress and Sinbad just came so the rush of blood to his cock so early just hurts. Ja’far ruts against him from behind, 

And Sinbad catches himself thinking that he’s too old to get so hard again this soon. 

It's not often that Ja'far lets this happen. Sinbad moans shamelessly when his adviser shoves his robes up and Ja'far stops and the cool air brushing up against his ass is something to make his hole twitch. Ja'far hisses a harsh breath through clenched teeth, spreads his King's cheeks slowly with strong hands that knead at the firm flesh. Sinbad sinks to his elbows and bites into a cushion.  
"Whore."  
Ja’far spits it like Sinbad wouldn’t enjoy it, but Sinbad groans mindlessly because he's not of a mind at all to disagree when it's true. What else should he be but the worst kind of harlot when he's got his ass in the air, waiting for approval Ja'far's breath brushes right there and so fucking close to where Sin needs it and if he shifts backwards, tries to get Ja'far's pretty lips around his asshole, then that just proves Ja'far's statement more and he punctuates it. 

Ja’far’s hand stings when he brings it down on Sinbad’s ass and what else can he do but rut his hips against the mattress and be grateful to the point where he just barely refrains from spewing gratitude for the pain that leaves his ass stinging and his cheeks hot.  
“Shut the fuck up.” 

Ja’far descends and Sinbad feels the spike in pleasure like it’s trying to claw it’s way out of his throat and there’s not even a noise to make, just the scramble his hands make to clench over Ja’far’s, restless.


End file.
